“What’s that accent?” asks Rosie, taking the first drag on her joint. “It’s cute. Is it Manchester?”
“Watford,” says Amy.
“Eesh,” says Rosie. “I’ve been gone too long. Tell me about Watford.”
“It’s a town,” says Amy. “In England.”
“I know that, Amy. Is it pretty?”
“It’s not the first word I’d use,” says Amy. She is looking forward to ringing her father-in-law, Steve, later. It’s a Friday, so he should be around. He’ll get a kick out of hearing about Rosie. Strong women had certainly been his thing. Maybe they will be again one day.
Thinking about strong women makes Amy think about Bella Sanchez. And thinking about Bella Sanchez makes her think about Mark Gooch. And thinking about Mark Gooch makes her…
And that’s the problem right there, Amy, isn’t it! When you relax, you think. None of that stuff is her business. Stop thinking: it never works out for you. Hit things, drive fast, defuse explosives, but, for the love of God, don’t think. Life isn’t school.
“England is nuts,” says Rosie. “In the eighties they loved me, then in the nineties they hated me, in the noughties they forgot me, in the twenty tens they remembered me, and now they love me again. I haven’t changed a jot in all that time. You ever read any of my books, Amy the bodyguard?”
“No,” lies Amy. Everyone has read one of Rosie D’Antonio’s books. Amy has been reading her books since she was a teenager. A social worker once handed one to her, a finger on their lips to warn Amy that this contraband was their little secret. And what a secret. The death, the glamour, the clothes, the blood. Shoulder pads and poison. But it’s important not to fangirl a client. A bullet doesn’t care how famous you are. Which actually is one of Maximum Impact Solutions’ mottos.
Amy had been rereading Death Pulls the Trigger on the plane up here yesterday. They’d made a film of it with Angelina Jolie, but the book was better. Lots of sex with millionaires, lots of guns. Stuff Amy could relate to.
“You married?” Rosie asks. “Kids?”
“Married, no kids,” says Amy.
“He a good guy? The husband?”
“Yeah, he is,” says Amy, thinking of Adam. “As good as I am, anyway. I like him.”
Rosie nods. “That’s a good answer. Does he worry about you?”
“He doesn’t like it when I get shot at,” says Amy. “And once, in Morocco, I got attacked with a sword, and he cried.”
“Did you cry?”
“I haven’t cried since I was twelve,” says Amy. “I learned not to.”
“That sounds healthy,” says Rosie. “Can I put you in a book? Five six, blue eyes, blonde, never cries, kills bad guys?”
“No,” says Amy. “I don’t like publicity.”
“I promise not to mention your ears.”
Amy and her father-in-law try to talk every day. They’ve never really discussed it; it’s just become a habit important to both of them. Well, it’s a habit important to Amy, and she hopes it’s important to Steve too. Occasionally they’ll miss a day. For example, Amy had to stay completely quiet for twelve hours in that oil pipeline, on account of a hit squad, so on that day she had to make do with texting. Steve understands. The job is the job.
“Do you get to choose what you wear?” Rosie asks. “Or is it a uniform?”
Amy looks down at her combat fatigues and faded Under Armour T-shirt.
“I choose.”
Rosie raises a questioning eyebrow. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”
Amy doesn’t like to leave it too long between calls, because you never knew what Steve was eating, if he was looking after himself. It is illogical, in her opinion, to eat poorly.
She should probably ring her husband too, but she worries less about Adam. And, besides, what would they talk about?
“When you came in,” says Rosie, “there was a copy of Death Pulls the Trigger at the top of your bag. Thumbed through to about halfway.”
Amy nods. Busted.
“So you have read one of my books? You said you hadn’t?”
“Client research.”
“Bullshit,” says Rosie. “You like it?”
“There was nothing else to read.”
“Course you like it, I see you. You read the bit where she shoots the guy on the plane?”
“That’s a good bit,” says Amy.
“Yeah, that’s a good bit,” says Rosie, nodding. “A pilot I was seeing let me shoot a gun on his plane for research. Have you ever done that?”
“Shot a gun on a plane? No,” lies Amy.
“Nothing really happens,” says Rosie. “They had to replace the calfskin on one of the sofas, but that was it.”
